


With Grace

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [60]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort Sex, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 60: Freak.  San Francisco arc continues.  A little fathering, a little sexin - you know how the boys roll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.
> 
> No disrespect is intended towards the faith of Santeria, as a matter of fact, just the opposite - it's a very beautiful, complex culture.

Relief washed over John. Sam's expression held no traces of resentment, no sign that his conversation with Mathieu had negative consequences. Beckoning his youngest to him, he hoped for the best.

"Let me see your wrist, Sammy." The cut had been a freak accident, a nasty slice incurred when Sam blacked out in the middle of a vision the day before, and the bottle of soda he'd been holding had shattered.

"S'okay, Dad," came the calm reply, and his boy's willing hand was placed in his own without hesitation. John paused for a moment, certain that Sam's fingers curled around his more firmly than they had during previous wound checks. Peeling the bandage back was quick work, and the sight of the clean pink edges of the cut let John relax.

"Healing fine, kiddo. It's nine now, stick to bedtime tonight, see how you feel tomorrow." It was more of a command than an order, but Sam nodded, flopping bonelessly down onto the nearby couch. Dean slid in next to him, and John bit back a smile.

Before he could tease his boys about their resemblance to a pair of deadbeat teenagers, Mathieu pulled John into a discussion on white ladies, leaving the boys to their own devices. Not that Sam was paying attention anyways, and neither was Dean for that matter. Both tired, they stared mindlessly at the television until the clock chimed the half hour. As if it was some sort of hidden prompt, Dean gave Sam one of his detestable smirks, tossing off a smart ass comment.

"Dammit, Dean," he complained, rolling his eyes, which granted Dean perfect permission to swat Sam upside the head.

Which in turn was Sam's allowance to reach over and pin Dean before things escalated, overlooking the fact that HE was the escalating party as usual. Retaliating by flipping the two of them, Dean knocked them onto the floor, and then a disbelieving John Winchester had both of them by the collar, hauling them to their feet.

"Having fun, boys?"

"Er, sorry, sir," muttered Dean. "No big deal."

"That so, Sam?"

To John's intense relief, Sam chuckled. "Pretty much."

"Bed, both of you." John issued the request, one of the traditional ten commandments of Winchester, and both boys knew they were a hair away from the even more traditional disciplinary action that usually followed the breaking of said commandments. They both tossed off a slightly shamed "yessir" in the tone they knew John preferred, and their father just shook his head and pointed at the stairs.

Mathieu let a little chuckle escape as he heard their bedroom door close, prompting an eyeroll from John.

"Matty, tell me they're gonna grow up some day."

Mathieu's eyes softened. "Not if you're lucky, papa bear. Not if you're lucky." He simply smiled when John groaned, and handed the younger man a beer.

Upstairs, Dean herded Sam into the bedroom, and not until he'd clicked the door shut did he turn and grin at his partner in crime. Silently knocking their fists together, they locked together in a lingering kiss.

"Naked, now," came the hushed growl from Dean. His husky voice prompted a strangled moan from Sam, who found himself going from zero to hard in point five seconds flat.

"You're not going to undress me?" Sam's voice was soft, just a taste of petulance to it, and Dean wrapped a strong arm around the boy's waist, and planted a hard swat on Sam's bottom. He had to stop and breathe for a moment as Sam threw his head back and produced a noise that was somewhere between a growl and moan, and all Dean could think was that he absolutely had to hear it again. Another swat drew a whimper, and Dean relented, knowing Sam might still be sore. He moved his hands to the hem of Sam's hoodie, squirming himself as the boy undulated out of the shirts he was wearing.

Somehow he ditched his own clothing, and gave Sam a light push that sent him sprawling back on the bed, legs spread. Plastered all over the boy's face was what Dean's brain immediately classified as a 'come hither look' before his manhood took over and booted the phrase from memory. He narrowed his eyes, and pointed, watching as Sam scooted up at the head of the bed, so Dean could crawl - literally - up between the muscled legs like a wolf on the prowl. Sitting back on his heels, he wrapped warm hands around Sam's hips, shivering as the boy arched up into the touch, letting his fingers trace patterns along the smooth golden skin.

Sam laid back, willing himself to keep his hands away from his cock, not wanting Dean to stop touching, savoring the sweet agony caused by the effort. He was rewarded when Dean's long body leaned up over his own, lips brushing together in a feather-light kiss. Sam pushed back his surprise, kneading his own strong hands into Dean's taut back muscles.

Iron clad strength restrained into feather light exchanges, their fingertips quested with agonizing slowness. The only interruption came with laughter, when they both clasped lube slicked hands around one another's cocks at the same time, neither one having noticed the other reaching for or opening the separate tubes of lubricant. It quickly stifled into moans of pleasure as Dean slid into Sam, moans that spoke of the ache Sam felt, of being achingly filled by slow tempo thrusts, Dean's moans stuttering out the ecstasy of feeling Sam tight around him, of being contained by his brother.

Both men held themselves back from the escalating pressure of orgasms, prolonging the narcotic high of the touches they exchanged, the deep kisses, the knowing looks, and the feel of their muscled bodies fitting into one another so perfectly. They watched one another's eyes, until both of them had the slightly glazed look that precluded orgasm, crinkling around the corners with the effort of holding back. Neither boy was sure who let go first, but the sensations went on so long for both it was nearly painful, and Dean slumped down on Sam's chest, gasping for air, feeling Sam strain underneath him to pull in more oxygen. Both whimpered as his cock slid free, but neither of them had the energy to do more than just breathe - and though Dean would never admit it, cling to one another.

It took a long while before Dean turned his head to look into Sam's soft eyes. "Should shower," he mumbled.

"Too tired."

Dean eased himself up, and Sam protested, earning a light slap to his hip that made both of them smile. The older boy stumbled into the bathroom to clean himself up, and bring a wet washcloth out to Sam. The younger man was sleeping already, face relaxed and innocent - hah thought Dean - and he carefully cleaned the boy up, amused when the firm touch of the washcloth didn't wake him. He tossed the cloth aside, and curled up around Sam, dropping into his own deep sleep barely a breath later - with any luck, they'd both be too tired to dream

**Author's Note:**

> Blue Stone - Breathe


End file.
